


Curled up Away from the Cold

by orderlychaos



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Fluff, Get Together, M/M, Pining, Snowed In, cameo by Jasper Sitwell, cameo by Natasha Romanoff, cameo by Nick Fury - Freeform, slight angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-22
Updated: 2014-12-22
Packaged: 2018-03-01 01:10:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2753999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orderlychaos/pseuds/orderlychaos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Jasper cursed.  “Dammit, Coulson,” he muttered.  “I didn’t want to tell you this before, but there’s a snowstorm on the radar that’s rapidly heading towards your position.  The pilots are warning me that they have a fifteen minute window before it’s going to be too difficult to fly out.”</em>
</p><p> </p><p>When a snowstorm hits at the end of a mission, Phil and Clint are forced to take refuge in an old SHIELD safe-house until things blow over.  Trapped together, they might finally be forced to confront the feelings they have for each other... and finally get their happy ending.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jmathieson](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jmathieson/gifts).



> A large thank you to Ralkana for all the help! Also large thank yous to Carol and totalnerdatheart, who are awesome and read this over when I needed it <3
> 
> Any remaining mistakes are my own.

Glaring at the wall in front of him, Phil Coulson bit back a sigh of frustration.  Where the hell was that hidden catch?

Phil shone his flashlight around the room again, but nothing seemed out of place.  At least, not as far as Phil could tell.  The room wasn’t exactly pristine.  Paint peeled on the walls, and a thick layer of dust covered the few bits of battered furniture that still remained.  Considering the old Soviet base had been abandoned for over twenty years, it wasn’t really surprising.  Outside, the wind howled, adding level of eeriness to the empty watchtowers looming over the tall, rusted wire fences.  Hulking rusted frames of trucks and cars were half hidden in the snow, and frigid air filtered in through the cracked and broken windows, making Phil shiver.

This corner of Estonia was pretty remote, and Phil could see why it had appealed to both the soldiers who had once manned the base, and the traffickers who used it now.  SHIELD analysts had tracked the recent movement back to a smuggling ring Maria Hill was hunting.  The base was an important stop on the smuggling route moving the illegal weapons from east to west across Europe.  The problem was that once the weapons hit the Baltic, they disappeared, and as a result, Maria needed the shipping manifests.  The _real_ ones, not the fake lists her contact had slipped her.  Once she had them, Maria and her team could find where the traffickers were going before their latest shipment disappeared too.

Strike Team Delta had been sent in because the combination of Clint Barton and Natasha Romanoff was better than any other strike team SHIELD had.  Gifted, skilled and terrifying, Natasha and Clint were good at running under the radar.  They did whatever was necessary to complete their mission, even if that came with a tendency to break the rules.  If Phil was being truthful, that was actually part of what made them so good.  Phil had been sent along as their handler - and with a side mission, because Nick Fury did not waste opportunities.

Hence the search for a secret door.

The mission had been simple enough on paper - get in, find the shipping manifests and get out.  They’d stashed the SUV five miles from the old bunker, and hiked the rest of the way on foot, hoping the cover of night would stop anyone from noticing their approach.  So far, their luck seemed to be holding, but Phil wasn’t counting on that lasting forever.

His breath missing in the dark air in front of him, Phil continued shining his flashlight around the room.  Aside from the desk and two battered chairs, there was an empty filing cabinet in the corner.  One of the drawers was wedged open, filled with the remains of some sort of animal nest, but unfortunately, completely empty of any files.

“I’m beginning to think we’re not going to find anything in here but some sort of mutant dust monster,” Clint drawled softly over the comms.

Phil’s lips quirked into a smile.  The familiar sound of Clint’s sarcasm soothed a little of Phil’s frustration.  After so many missions together he understood Clint’s rhythms better than his own sometimes.

“Whatever makes you say that?” Jasper Sitwell shot back sardonically.

Jasper was back at Tallinn with the rest of Maria’s team, monitoring Phil and Strike Team Delta over the comms.  Being Jasper, he’s also accessed the satellite feed to help keep an eye on them.  Phil _really_ didn’t want to know whose spy satellite Jasper had hacked this time.

“Oh, you know, it’s more the general ambiance,” Clint replied.  “And the dust.  Seriously.  I think I’m going to drown in it.”

“It would probably be an improvement if you did,” Natasha quipped.

Still fighting a smile, Phil turned his flashlight back to the northern wall.  He’d studied the base’s blueprints extensively, and they definitely had not matched the building’s exterior.  The door _had_ to be there.  “Damn it,” he muttered.

He was usually _great_ at secret doors.  They were his thing.  So where was it?

“I’m guess that means no luck with the secret door, sir?” Clint asked, and Phil could hear the teasing laughter in his voice.

Phil bit back another sigh, but the frustration still bled into his words.  “No,” he replied.  “But I know it’s here.”

“Do you need some help, sir?” Natasha asked.

“Thank you, Widow, but I’ve got this,” Phil replied, because he did.  He didn’t appreciate Jasper’s snigger in reply.

Giving in with a silent curse, Phil tugged off his glove so that he could run his fingers over the empty bookshelves again.  They were solid wood, far nicer than the rest of the battered furniture.  Phil might have missed the catch when he’d searched them with his gloves on.  When Phil’s hand brushed over a bump that rose up from the back of the shelf, the wood worn smooth beneath his fingers, he grinned with a rush of triumph.  He must have made a sound, because Clint chuckled roughly in his ear.  “And he’s found it,” Clint drawled.

When Phil pushed down on the bump, the switch gave way with a rough grinding noise.  He took several steps backwards so the bookshelf could swing open on old hinges to reveal the small hidden room beyond.

“What was that?” Natasha asked.

“I think I’ve found the documents,” Phil said.  He reached out to pull the door when it got stuck half way, grunting softly at the effort.  “Any sign of the traffickers?”

“I found nothing in the outbuildings,” Clint replied.  “There were footsteps and scuff marks in the dust, but that’s it.  Whatever cargo they were storing here is long gone.”

Inside the now-revealed room, Phil found another dust covered desk and chair and two filing cabinets.  If the files Nick had sent him to find where still there, this was where they’d be.  Forcing the cabinets was easy, and Phil let out a breath when he saw the files were still inside.  Phil flipped through them, searching, and made a mental note to brush up on his Russian.  A fluent command of military orders and swear words wasn’t always helpful.

“Feed is clear, too,” Jasper added.  “Although I’m picking up a heat signature in the east wing of the main building.”

“Heading that way now,” Natasha said.

“Copy that, Widow,” Phil replied.  Spotting the right files, Phil grabbed them quickly and slid them into the large pocket inside his jacket.  Zipping his jacket back up, Phil shut the hidden door, and started heading in Natasha’s direction.

Around him, the building was dark and the dusty floor creaked under his boots.  Flicking his flashlight at the shadows, Phil let his hand hover over the comforting weight of the gun holstered on his thigh.  Neither Natasha nor Clint had found any sentries guarding the base, but Phil wasn’t taking any chances.

“I found the traffickers, sir,” Natasha reported softly a minute later.  “Four men, ground floor in the eastern wing.  They’re packing up a series of computers.  Permission to engage?”

Phil raised an eyebrow at Natasha’s formality.  While Natasha was _always_ professional, she rarely asked him for permission to carry out her objectives.  She preferred efficiency over strict adherence to protocol.  Phil hoped he hadn’t done anything to cause the change, but it was probably due to where they were.  The old Soviet ghosts surrounding them were no doubt reminding Natasha of her past.  “Hold position for a moment, Widow.  I’m on my way to you,” he said.  “Hawkeye, what’s your location?”

“East building, second floor.  Traffickers in sight,” Clint replied.  “They’re definitely leaving.”  There was the soft sound of Clint settling into position over the comms.  “We’re ready, sir.  On your signal.”

“Securing that shipping manifest is our highest priority,” Phil said.  “Permission granted.”

“Copy that, sir,” Natasha replied.

Phil wasn't far from where Natasha had found the traffickers - one floor up in the opposite wing of the same building.  Hurrying towards his assets, and the muffled gunfire now echoing over the comms, Phil drew his gun.  This was always the part of the mission Phil hated.  His stomach clenched even as his adrenaline spiked.  Training kept his heartbeat steady, but nothing could stop the instinctive jolt of fear whenever Clint and Natasha were in danger.

In his rush, Phil hit the narrowed wooden staircase leading to the ground floor a little too fast.  Underneath the threadbare carpet, the wood gave way with a splintering crash, and Phil barely had time to let out a curse before he was falling.  He slammed heavily into the floor below, dust and bits of wood raining down on him.  Phil groaned softly, his brain fuzzy. and throbbing with a dull ache spiralling out from his temple  He took a deep breath, immediately coughing as his lungs rebelled at the dust.  Pushing himself up on slightly shaky arms, Phil blinked into the darkness, his flashlight long gone.  He’d have a few spectacular bruises by the dull ache in his shoulder and the left side of his ribs, but the injuries were more embarrassing than painful.  Particularly considering his graceful, acrobatic assets.

“Coulson!” Clint’s voice was sharp and worried.

“I’m okay,” Phil muttered.  His vision didn’t blur, which Phil was taking as a good sign, particularly with the way his head was throbbing.   “I fell through a rotten section of floor.  I’m sore, but fine.  What’s the status in those computers?”

“Securing them now, sir,” Natasha said a little breathlessly.  A second later, there was the unmistakable sound of her hitting someone with a pipe.

Carefully, Phil tried to push himself back to his feet.  Sharp pain immediately lanced up Phil’s right leg from his ankle, and Phil had to breathe shallowly for a moment.  Brushing away some debris, Phil gently wiggled the joint, but it didn’t feel broken.  He’d probably just landed badly on it when he fell.

“Coulson, what’s your status?” Jasper barked, sounded worried.

“Sprained ankle, I think,” Phil replied softly.  “I’m not sure I’m going to make it to the extraction point on my own.”

Jasper cursed.  “Dammit, Coulson,” he muttered.  “I didn’t want to tell you this before, but there’s a snowstorm on the radar that’s rapidly heading towards your position.  The pilots are warning me that they have a fifteen minute window before it’s going to be too difficult to fly out.”

Clint cursed.  “Sitwell, what’s Coulson’s position?”

Phil immediately heard the sound of Clint shifting from his perch, followed by Jasper’s bitten off curse.  Careful not to jostle his ankle more than he had to, Phil gritted his teeth and dragged himself to his feet.  The pain wasn’t too bad.  Unfortunately, when he tried to take a step forward, his ankle wouldn’t take his weight and Phil staggered into the wall with a grunt.  “It’s no good,” he said, his voice slightly rougher than usual despite his efforts.  “I won’t make that window.  There’s no way I can get to the exfil coordinates before the storm closes in.”  He sucked in a deep breath, and let it out slowly as he attempted a second step.  It went a little better than the first now that Phil could prop himself up against the wall.  “Hawkeye, Widow…”

“Yeah, don’t even think about it,” Clint growled.  “We’re not leaving you behind.”

“Those computers are the priority,” Phil countered.  “Not to mention time sensitive.  You need to get them to Hill.”

“I can do that,” Natasha interrupted.  “Hawkeye can stay behind with you.  You can use the SUV and find somewhere to hole up until the storm blows over.”

“Do we even have any safe-houses near here?” Clint asked, and Phil heard a weird echo over the comms.  Glancing up, he found Clint glaring at him darkly from the bottom of the stairs.

“It’s old, but there is one,” Jasper replied.  “I’ll send you the coordinates.”

“What about the traffickers?” Phil asked, glaring back at Clint.  They’d had this argument many times, sometimes silently, sometimes not.  Clint remained stubbornly against putting the mission before Phil.  Not that Clint had ever failed in his mission objectives because of it either.  Somehow, the stubborn bastard usually managed to rescue Phil _and_ complete whatever mission he had.

“The traffickers are dealt with,” Clint said flatly.  “Are you going to be an asshole about this?”

Jasper snorted.  “It’s Coulson.  Of course he’s going to be an asshole.”

Closing his eyes for a moment against the pain flaring down his body, Phil gave in.  He wanted nothing more than a hot shower and a cup of coffee, and although the safe-house probably wouldn’t have either, it was the best option he had.  “Fine,” he said.  “Hawkeye and I will find the safe-house.  Widow…”

“Don’t even bother,” Natasha replied, although there was a teasing warmth underneath her words.  “I’m already heading to exfil point.  Stay safe, sir.”

“You too, Widow,” Phil told her.

~*~

Phil was hurt.

Clint Barton was not pissed off about that.  Nope.  Particularly not because it was Phil’s own stupid fault.

With a final dark look that Clint hoped conveyed his feelings, he carefully picked his way through the debris strewn across the stairs to Phil’s side.  Even in the dim light, Clint paused for a moment to track his sharp gaze over Phil for injuries, but he looked mostly okay.  There was a smear of blood at his temple from a small cut near his hairline, and it was probably going to bruise, but the rest of Phil seemed fine.

“It’s just the ankle and some bruises,” Phil said softly.  “I promise.”

“You’re bleeding,” Clint countered, his eyes flicking back up to Phil’s temple.

Phil frowned and arched an eyebrow.  “Should I point out your usual reaction to medical treatment now, or later?” he grumbled.

Blowing out a breath, Clint conceded the issue grudgingly.  It was different when he was the one hurt, anyway.  Clint could deal with his own pain - it was when the people he cared about were hurting that he had all the trouble.  “Shut up,” he muttered.

Passing Phil the gun he’d fished out of the splintered remains of the stairs, Clint carefully moved so that Phil could throw an arm over his shoulders.  Phil sucked in a sharp breath when he put weight on his ankle, and Clint braced himself to take more of Phil’s weight.  “Come on,” he said softly.  “Let’s get you somewhere safe.”

“I’d hurry as fast as you can,” Jasper added over the comms.  “That storm is coming in fast.”

“Copy that,” Clint replied.

Wedging his shoulder under Phil’s armpit, Clint guided Phil down the stairs.  In the part of his brain not planning the fastest way off the base, he registered the solid weight of Phil pressed against him.  Clint had seen the firm muscle Phil kept hidden beneath his tailored suits, glimpses stolen in the gym and in safe-houses around the world.  Clint had tried to keep his thoughts professional, but the urge to get up close and personal with Phil was hard to swallow down.  Not that Phil was wearing a suit right now.  No, Phil was naturally wearing black tactical gear for their mission.  Even with the thick winter coat he was wearing over his tac vest, he looked way too hot for Clint’s continued sanity.

It wasn’t just Phil’s strong shoulders or amazing blue eyes that had something fluttering deep in Clint’s chest.  Clint had admired Phil for a long time - long before they’d become friends.  Phil’s patience and those quick flashes of dorky humour had Clint’s stomach doing somersaults at inappropriate moments just as much as anything else.  Spending his down time sprawled out next to Phil on his couch, watching _Dog Cops_ had become the high point of Clint’s week.  Recently, though, those feelings of admiration and friendship had morphed into something deeper.  Or maybe they always had been, and Clint just couldn’t deny that anymore.  Either way, Clint had been trying to hard to put a little distance between them.  As much as Clint treasured the friendship he’d built with Phil, he’d needed a little space before he did something stupid, like ask Phil to let him stay.  Or confess his feelings and ruin everything.

Clint let out a silent breath and cursed himself, because he shouldn’t be thinking those kinds of thoughts in the middle of a mission.  Or missing the faint spicy trace of Phil’s aftershave that he only wore around HQ.

“We won’t make it back to the SUV,” Phil said quietly.  “I doubt my ankle will last that far, and we don’t have time.”

Clint gave a curt nod, because he’d realized that too.  Phil’s ankle didn’t seem to bad - it was probably wasn’t even a major sprain - but hiking five miles through a snowstorm wasn’t smart even with two functioning feet.  “Don’t put away your cowl yet, Cap,” he said, flashing Phil a brief smirk even though he wasn’t really feeling it.  “I’ve got a plan.”

Phil huffed.  “I wish you wouldn’t do that,” he muttered.

Clint’s face slid into a genuine grin at the flush on Phil’s cheeks.  “Sorry,” he replied, although he wasn’t that sorry.  Captain America was _awesome_.

“So what’s the plan?” Phil asked after a few more steps.

Clint glanced around the shadowy corridor, but it was empty.  “Well, the traffickers had to be getting those computers out somehow, right?” he said.  “I saw an old armoured truck outside.  We can take that.”

“Good idea,” Phil said.  His breath came out on a sharp hiss as he wobbled, and Clint carefully guided him over to lean on the wall.  “No… We need to keep going.  I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Clint countered, but he still changed course.

“I’ve walked for longer with worse injuries,” Phil replied.

Clint shot him a sharp glance.  “If that’s your attempt at being comforting, it’s not working.”

Phil fell silent, which was just fine with Clint.  When they finally got close to the loading door where the traffickers had stashed their truck, Clint turned them both towards one of the windows.  Outside, the world was a blur of shadows and howling wind.  There wasn’t enough light to see how bad the snow was, but Clint guessed it wouldn’t be good.  “Shit,” he cursed.

“The safe-house isn’t far,” Jasper said.  “You should still be able to make it.”

In his ear, Clint heard the soft click of someone opening a private channel.  “Breathe, Clint,” Natasha told him quietly.  “I’m almost out.  You need to do the same.”

Clint’s shoulders unclenched a little.  Aside from having the dubious honour of being Clint’s best friend and partner, Natasha was smart and capable, and if anyone could get the intel to Hill in time, it would be her.  “I will,” he promised.

“Good.”  There was a slight pause as Clint heard the sound of ‘jet engines above the howling wind in the background.  “And who knows, maybe you’ll finally have to have an actual conversation with Coulson about your feelings.”

“Shut up,” Clint muttered, grateful Phil couldn’t hear this.

With a throaty chuckle, Natasha was gone.

Clint sighed.  His life was even more of a mess than usual right now, but standing around an old Soviet base wasn’t going to help anything.  “Okay.”  Clint breathed out.  “You ready, sir?”

Phil closed his eyes and let out a slow breath, before opening them again and giving Clint a curt nod.  “Yeah.  Let’s go.”

Phil was tense the whole way to the truck.  Thankfully, someone had left the keys in the ignition, so Clint didn’t have to test his hot-wiring skills.  “Easy,” Clint whispered, hovering a little as he eased Phil into the passenger seat.

“I’m not bleeding out, Hawkeye,” Phil chided softly.

Clint scowled, but said nothing.  Instead, he hurried through the snow towards the driver’s seat, hoping the cold would help his head get back in the game.  It was only been a matter of time before his feelings got him in trouble on a mission, because apparently it was very hard to be in love with your handler and remain objective.

“Let’s go,” he said shortly, slamming the driver’s door behind him.  “Sitwell, lay those directions on me.”

“You got it, Hawk,” Jasper replied.

~*~


	2. Chapter 2

Phil grunted as Clint helped lower him onto the ratty couch.  His ankle was throbbing painfully now, even though Phil had rested it in the truck on the way to the safe-house.  With the storm closing in, the trip had been dicey to say the least, but Clint had got them to the old SHIELD safe-house in one piece.  Clint had also made sure to secure the doors and windows, find a dry supply of wood for the fireplace, and was currently inventorying the supplies in the small kitchen and tiny bathroom.  In any other situation, Phil would say Clint was avoiding him.

Hopefully, it was just because of Phil’s injuries, and not because Phil had let something slip.

His feelings for his asset had slowly changed over the years, but Phil would never stop wanting Clint to be safe and happy.  If Phil also longed for more than that, for a fantasy world where Phil could come home to find Clint waiting for him, well, Phil had buried those urges a long time ago.  Along with the urge to kiss Clint, and hold him close when he was sick and all Phil’s other ridiculous, romantic notions.

Sagging into the surprisingly comfortable cushions, Phil let his head fall backwards and stared up at the ceiling.  Thankfully he’d already stripped down, his weapons and tac gear secured and easy to access, and his snow gear drying by the door.  The safe-house itself was better than Phil had expected, even though it was dim and sparsely decorated.  The threadbare carpet didn’t entirely covering the wood floor anymore, but it was comfortable, and hopefully with a fire lit, warm.  Jasper had predicted the storm would blow over in three days or so, and the safe-house would be perfectly adequate until then.  Hopefully someone had stocked the kitchen with food, because Phil wasn’t looking forward to spending three days on SHIELD emergency rations if he could avoid it.

“We need to strap that ankle.”

At Clint’s soft voice, Phil opened his eyes to see Clint standing in front of him with a first aid kit.  Phil nodded, wincing slightly as he shifted to sit up straight.  Clint dropped gracefully to his knees in front of Phil, and Phil hoped Clint would mistake the shudder that went through him for the cold.  Clint eased the boot off Phil’s right foot as gently as he could, but Phil still muttered a curse or three under his breath.  “Sorry,” Clint whispered.

“It’s fine,” Phil told him, because it wasn’t as if Clint could help it.

Phil’s ankle was bruised and swollen when Clint pulled off the thick sock, but it didn’t look as bad as it no doubt could have.  Clint gently lifted Phil leg until his foot was braced on Clint’s thigh, his nimble fingers already reaching for the compression bandage.  “I couldn’t find any ice packs or anything in the freezer, but if the swelling gets bad, I can go outside for some snow,” Clint said softly.

“Okay,” Phil agreed.

“I’ll go grab the pillows I found in a minute,” Clint said softly when he was done.  “But first I should clean that cut on your head.”

Shifting so that he was sitting beside Phil on the couch, Clint grabbed the small basin of water and the cloth he’d brought with him from the kitchen.  Carefully, he cleaned the cut as best as he could, his sharp eyes narrowly focused on his task.  This close, Phil could smell the traces of soap and sweat on Clint’s skin.  Not even the slight pain of the antiseptic could distract him.  “There,” Clint said, covering the cut with a small adhesive bandage.  “All done.  Now, how’s your ribs?”

“Clint,” Phil said softly, reaching out to cover Clint’s fluttering hands with one of his.  “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” Clint agreed, flashing him a bright -- and entirely fake -- smile.  “I’m going to go light that fire.”

Phil sighed.  Pushing Clint right now would only make him clam up further.  “Sounds good,” Phil replied, at a loss of what else to do.

Contrary to the rumours spread by the junior agents, Phil was not infallible.  He didn’t always have a solution to everything, particularly when it came to his personal life.  Whatever was bothering Clint definitely hadn’t affected his field performance.  Phil was pretty sure he’d figure it out if he was patient enough, but things would be a lot easier if Clint would tell him what was wrong.

Clint’s shoulders were tense as he packed the wood in the fireplace, even in the dim light of the safe-house’s dodgy electrical connection.  Mentally, Phil sighed at himself.  This was getting utterly ridiculous.  He should be helping Clint count supplies, not figuring out the quickest way to make Clint smile again.

“So,” Clint said, letting out a breath as he sat back on his haunches.  In front of him, the fire crackled into life, highlighting the planes of Clint’s face.  “Do you want the bad news first?”

Phil nodded.  “Might as well,” he replied.  “How bad is it?”

“Well, the food is mostly canned, but we should have enough to last us for five days or so.  Longer if we ration, but I doubt the storm will go on for that long.  As you’ve already noted, the heating is shit, but there’s plenty of blankets.”  Clint glanced away then, clearing his throat a little awkwardly.  “Unfortunately, there’s only one bed, but I’ll be fine bunking down on the couch.”

“Clint…” Phil began, but Clint cut him off with a sharp look.

“You’re hurt,” Clint snapped.  “You get the bed.”

Phil nodded, and attempted to send Clint a placating smile.  “And the good news?” he asked.

“I found a block of really nice dark chocolate in the cupboard,” Clint said, the anger draining from his features as he smiled a little sheepishly.  “It might be an apology for stocking the rest of the place with Campbell’s condensed.”

Phil snorted, unable to stop the spark of humour at that.  “Don’t front, Barton.  You love that shit.”  Clint’s smile faded, and the tension returned to his shoulders.  “Barton?” Phil asked softly, dropping his attempt at humour.  “Clint?  Is something wrong?”

If anything, Clint’s shoulders went even more rigid.  “Just a bit restless, I guess,” he replied.

No.  That wasn’t it.  Phil took a deep breath and reminded himself not to push.  “Okay.”

“You want dinner now, or do you want to try your luck with the plumbing and take a shower?” Clint asked.

Grimacing a little, Phil shivered in the still cold air.  “I might leave the shower for later when things are a little warmer,” he said.

“Okay,” Clint said, pushing himself to his feet with another of those bright, fake grins.  “Dinner it is.”

Phil could only watch as he retreated to the kitchen.

~*~

Ugh.

Clint was being stupid.  He could practically feel Natasha’s glare from wherever she was at that moment, and yet Clint couldn’t figure out how to _stop_.  Phil wasn’t even hurt that much, and he was going to see through Clint’s mother hen routine any second now.  The knot in Clint stomach refused to loosen, though.  Sighing, Clint stirred the soup.  Thankfully, the safe-house had no microwave, so Clint could take refuge in the kitchen for as long as it took the soup to heat.  Which wouldn’t be that long, so Clint needed to get his head screwed on straight ASAP.

The main source of Clint’s problems was Phil himself, which didn’t lead to the happiest of space-sharing.  Particularly not since Natasha had gotten him drunk and warned him to do something about how he felt.  The temptation to ask Phil out was seductive, and Clint really wished Phil was back in his usual suit, the one that reminded Clint how out of his league Phil was.  The whole thing was getting out of hand.  It didn’t help that Clint was going through some sort of Phil-withdrawal, because he hadn’t hung out in Phil’s apartment in weeks.  He’d really missed that.

Phil looked up with a soft smile when Clint walked back into the living room.  He’d propped his ankle up on pillows and gratefully accepted the mug of soup Clint held out.  Now that all the mission adrenaline was fading, Clint would have preferred a bigger meal, but there wasn’t much to work with that didn’t come out of a can.  Clint had managed to dredge up a bit of bread and not-awful looking cheese, which might not be too bad once he toasted them near the fire.

“Do you want me to shift over?” Phil asked, when Clint just kept standing there watching the fire.

“No, I’m good,” Clint said, forcing himself to smile.  He held up the bread and cheese.  “Just figuring out the best way to make us both a Barton special.”

The lines around Phil’s eyes tightened, but he didn’t push.  Clint was insanely grateful for that.  “Well, don’t let me get in the way,” Phil replied with another smile, this time waving towards the fireplace.

Settling down on from of the fire as close as he dared, Clint soon had a makeshift grill rigged and the sandwiches toasting.  Brushing crumbs from his thighs, Clint tried to ignore the way Phil’s eyes were boring into his back.  “There a problem?” he asked softly.

“No, sorry,” Phil said sheepishly.  When Clint risked a glance towards the couch, Phil was staring at the opposite wall, a faint blush dusting his cheeks.  “There’s just not a lot to do around here for entertainment.”

Clint wasn’t sure if that was an explanation or Phil changing the subject, so he shrugged.  “We’ve been in worse situations,” he said, sipping his soup.

There was a short, lone bookshelf in the corner covered with a few battered books, including several on bird watching, which was weird.  They’d probably be okay.

“We have,” Phil agreed with a nod.  “There’s, uh, a chess set.”  Phil sounded almost nervous, which was strange for him.  “I don’t suppose you play?”

Clint’s palms were sweaty, which was probably just because of the fire.  “I can,” he admitted.  “Fury taught me in Caracas.”

Since the sandwiches were smelling done, Clint turned to flip them onto the plate, even as Phil’s surprised chuckle curled under Clint’s ribs.  “I forgot the two of you were stuck there for a week,” Phil said.  “Maria and Jasper were taking bets on how long it would take Fury to kill you and dispose of the body.”

“Hey!” Clint protested, turning back to Phil.  “Fury loves me.”

“I know he does,” Phil said, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he fought back a grin.  “I had every faith that the two of you would be fine.  I just wasn’t going to tell Maria and Jasper that, because it was far funnier to watch them find out for themselves.”

Fighting back his own smile, Clint rolled his eyes.  “Of course you did,” he muttered.

Spending the next several hours squashed together with Phil on the couch was both paradise and torture.  Stripped down in the remains of his combat gear, with stubble beginning to show on his jaw and his thigh and shoulder pressed against Clint’s, Phil looked stupidly… human.  Like a guy Clint might see in a coffee shop and actually have a hope in hell of asking out, which wasn’t helping Clint control his inappropriate feelings.  

Eventually, Phil couldn’t hold back the yawns and Clint reluctantly packed the chess set away.  Despite the howling wind outside, it had been easy to pretend their warm bubble by the fire was Phil’s apartment.  Or that he and Phil weren’t handler and asset, but just old friends on a vacation somewhere.  But like all fantasies, reality had to intrude sometime.

“I think I’m going to try a shower to get some of this dust off, and then grab some sleep,” Phil said softly, breaking into Clint’s thoughts.  “Are you sure you don’t want to share the bed?”

“Nah, I’ll be fine out here,” Clint said.  After the genuine smiles of the last two hours, this one felt especially fake.  “The bed ain’t that big.”

“If you’re sure,” Phil said, something sad in his eyes.

“I’m sure,” Clint said firmly.  “Goodnight, sir.”

“Goodnight, Clint.”

~*~

 


	3. Chapter 3

Groaning softly, Phil drifted back to wakefulness as he was wracked with another full-body shiver.  He was _freezing_.  Neither the lukewarm shower, nor having piled the bed as high with blankets as he could was enough to stop the pervasive cold from sinking in.  Some time in the night, the temperature had plunged, and there didn’t seem to be any heat getting to the bedroom.  Phil’s bruises were all throbbing dully, his tense muscles and the constant shuddering not really helping.  Grimacing, Phil decided he wasn't going to get any sleep if he stayed where he was, so he gathered as many of the blankets around him as he could, and headed for the fire.  Hopefully it hadn’t died, because Phil wasn’t sure he could relight it without help. His ankle was slightly painful when he stood, but it was better than earlier, so Phil just hobbled slowly into the living room.

When Phil finally rounded the couch, he stopped dead in his tracks and blinked.  Clint had apparently abandoned the couch, and set up a nest of pillows and blankets right in front of the fire.  Even though Phil hadn’t made much noise when he’d walked in, Clint had always been a light sleeper.  He’d woken up at Phil’s entrance, and was half sitting up when he’d worked out who it was.  Clint blinked sleepily at Phil as the blankets covering him slid down to tangle about his waist.  He was shirtless, his skin golden in the dim light of the fire and incredibly distracting.  His hair was mussed, and Phil had to shake himself to distract himself from staring at that muscular, naked chest.  “Phil?” he asked.

“Sorry,” Phil replied softly.  He shivered again, but it was much warmer in here than it had been in the bedroom.  “I’m freezing.”

“Shit,” Clint muttered, his eyes widening.  He climbed to his feet, nearly tripping over the blankets, and revealing that he’d slept in his black cargo pants.  Phil had too,  because they hadn’t actually managed to find changes of clothes, only he’d left his black t-shirt on as well.

Clint managed to snag the edges of the blankets wrapped around Phil, and Phil found himself hustled in front of the fire.  Clint disappeared for a moment, returning with more wood.  He’d also thrown on the black sweater he’d worn under his tac vest, and Phil told himself he wasn’t disappointed by that.  Before long, the fire was roaring again, and Phil’s shivering started to ease.

“Better?” Clint asked softly.

“Yes,” Phil replied with a small smile.  When Clint shifted restlessly, Phil rolled his eyes.  “Do not even think about running off somewhere, Clint.”

Clint shot him a look.  “I wasn’t…” he protested.

Phil arched an eyebrow.

Huffing, Clint glanced down at his lap, and started fidgeting with the fraying hem of his sweater.  “I won’t go anywhere,” he agreed quietly.

Clint didn’t say anything else, but he still wouldn’t look at Phil either.  “Clint, what is it?” Phil asked softly.

Clint glanced at him from the corner of his eye, before looking back at the fire.  The same tension from yesterday tightened his shoulders, and Phil had to clench his hands to stop himself reaching out.  “I’m not sure you want an answer to that question, sir,” Clint whispered.

Phil swallowed.  “You know I won’t care, right?” Phil said.  “Whatever it is… I just don’t like seeing you unhappy, Clint.”

Clint glanced up with wide eyes.  His gaze searched Phil’s for a long moment, before he swallowed heavily.  “You think I’m unhappy?” he asked.

Phil caught the hint of pain underneath the words.  “Truthfully?” he said, hoping he wasn’t about to push too far.  “Yes.  I don’t know what it is, but something in your life is hurting you, Clint, and I would very much like to fix whatever it is.”

Clint squeezed his eyes shut, a trace of vulnerability in his face.  The scars from Clint’s past were still painful, and Phil just wanted to gather Clint up and keep him safe.  Not that Clint needed Phil to protect him.  Clint was strong, a survivor, and he’d probably be angry if he thought Phil was trying to fight his battles for him.

“Does it have something to do with me?” Phil asked softly.  “I know we’ve stopped hanging out as much as we used to, and if I’ve done anything to make you uncomfortable…”

Clint opened his eyes.  “It’s not your fault,” he interrupted.  Sighing, Clint ran his through his hair.  For a second, his face looked _tormented_ before it smoothed out again.  “It’s all me.  I…”  Clint blew out a breath.  “I just needed a little space.  I’m well aware of my own issues, okay?  I just…”  Clint trailed off, his shoulders giving a helpless twitch.  “I’ll always be your friend, Phil, but it’s more than that.  I wanted more than that.  But it’s okay, because I’m dealing with it.  I’ll be fine, and things can go back to normal soon, okay?”

Somehow, Clint had the power to break Phil’s heart and send warm hope zinging through his chest at the same time.  “Clint,” he said roughly.

Clint looked him directly in the eye, because Clint was ridiculously brave, even when bracing for hurt.  Maybe especially when he thought he was going to get hurt.  “Sorry, sir,” Clint whispered.

Unable to stop himself any longer, Phil reached out to gently cup Clint jaw and cheek.  “Please don’t be sorry,” he said.  “Clint…”  Phil paused and sucked in a deep breath, because right now, Clint needed him to get his words right.  “You are amazing,” he said, his voice low and adamant, willing Clint to believe him.  His heart thundered in his chest, but he ignored it.  “You’re smart, and brave and so painfully beautiful with a bow in your hands.  I’ve always been amazed by your intelligence, your courage and your strength, and the years have only deepened what I feel for you.  I never said anything because I didn’t dare think that you saw me as anything other than a handler.  And then, I didn’t want you to think that I was reading anything into our friendship.”

Clint was staring at him now, his eyes wide and so very, very blue.  The spark of hope that was slowly growing brighter was enough to quiet the nerves churning in Phil’s stomach.  Phil smiled, barely a quirk of his lips.  “But I do,” he breathed.  “Feel more for you than just friendship.  I love you, Clint.  I’m _in_ love with you.”

Clint blinked, a smile slowly dawning across his face, until it was so big it crinkled his eyes.  “Really?” he said.

Phil nodded, a little sheepishly, because he was well aware of how clichéd it was to fall for his asset.  “Really,” he agreed firmly, because Jasper might tease him for a million years after he found out, but Phil would never regret it.

For a moment, they sat in awkward silence, and Phil tried to figure out what to do next.  Outside, the storm was still howling, icy wind seeping in through the cracks in the old house.  Even though he was starting to sweat under the blankets, Phil shivered, not wanting to head back to the bedroom.  He wanted to stay right here.  With Clint.

“Phil,” Clint said softly, a trace of amusement in his voice.

Phil glanced up from where he’d been staring at the fire, surprised to find Clint leaning so close.  Clint’s eyes were bright with laughter, the kind that always encouraged Phil to join in on the joke.  Only this time, Phil had no idea what was amusing Clint so much.  “I’m no expert,” Clint said, “but I’m thinking when a guy tells me he loves me, there’s usually more kissing.”

Phil frowned, but he couldn’t stop the way his cheeks heated.  “Yes, well,” he said, waving his hand in an attempt to encompass all his awkwardness.  Everyone always expected Phil to be the man with a plan, but he had no plan for this.

Clint chuckled, the rough sound sending a shiver down Phil’s spine.  Gently, Clint reached up to nudge Phil’s chin, turning his face just enough that Clint could lean in and press their lips together.  The kiss started off soft, but then Clint’s clever fingers burrowed under the blankets wrapped around Phil, grabbing at Phil’s t-shirt and pulling him in.  Phil went willingly, letting the blankets fall to the floor.  Clint’s mouth was hot against his and Phil arched closer, needing Clint’s solid strength pressed against him.  Having Clint finally kiss him was better than anything Phil could have imagined, and his heart pounded.  One of Phil’s hands slid into Clint hair, his fingers winding into the silky strands.  Clint gasped, and Phil deepened the kiss, chasing Clint’s tongue back into his mouth.  The kiss turned wet and messy, and Clint groaned, the low rumble vibrating through Phil’s chest straight to his dick.

They broke apart when the need to breathe became insistent, and Clint pulled back far enough to pull his sweater over his head.  Phil watched the play of muscle underneath Clint’s skin, unable to tear his gaze away from Clint’s naked chest.  When he finally glanced up, Clint was smirking, but his cheeks were dusted with red.  His hair was mussed from Phil’s hands, and his pupils were blown wide enough to almost obscure all the wonderful colours in his eyes.  Reaching out, Phil pulled Clint in a little desperately, _needing_ to kiss Clint again.  It was probably insane considering where they were, but Phil didn’t care because Clint was too much temptation.  Phil groaned when Clint shifted, pressing Phil down into the blankets and caging him in with those strong arms.  Phil trailed his hands over Clint’s chest and back, wanting to touch as much of Clint’s warm skin as he could.

With his own groan, Clint tore himself away, resting his forehead against Phil’s as he fought to regain his breath.  “We should stop,” he said, his voice gravelly.

Phil shivered.  Blinking, he tried to gather his scattered thoughts.  Stopping sounded like a _horrible_ idea.  “Why?”

Clint smiled, just a quick curl of his lips, before he leaned down for another brief kiss.  Phil arched up to follow him when he pulled back again, glaring a little when Clint stopped kissing him.  “I wouldn’t have thought you were the kind of guy to sleep with people in safe-houses, Phil,” Clint said, the teasing tone not completely obscuring the wariness in his eyes.

Phil smiled, shrugging as much as he could without dislodging Clint.  He wanted Clint to stay right where he was, thank you very much.  “You’re the exception to a lot of my rules, Clint,” he said.  “Besides… if you’re not comfortable, nothing has to happen, okay?  We don’t…”

“Okay,” Clint muttered against Phil’s lips, before giving him a deep, hungry kiss.

Phil hummed, although he wasn’t sure what he was agreeing to.  Clint shifted, and the movement suddenly brought Clint’s erection in line with Phil’s hip.  Phil cursed into Clint’s mouth as his hand dropped down to palm Clint’s ass.  Phil’s skin felt overheated, the clothes they were still wearing suddenly too much.  Despite the distractions, Phil tried to cling to his train of thought.  “Clint,” he gasped when Clint tore his mouth away from his.

Clint’s hands slid down Phil’s arms and over his chest, leaving trails of heat in their wake, lust curling tight and hot in Phil’s stomach.  “Phil,” Clint whispered back, pushing up Phil’s t-shirt so he could kiss and nip at Phil’s stomach.

Phil sucked in a sharp breath and stared dazedly up at the dim ceiling.  He still wasn’t sure how he’d ended up here, flat on his back, with Clint trying his best to send Phil out of what was left of his mind.  He arched his back as Clint pushed his t-shirt higher, groaning when Clint’s mouth latched onto his nipple.  “Clint,” he said again, aiming for his mission-voice and tugging on Clint’s hair for good measure.

Clint slowly lifted his head, and fuck, he looked _wrecked_.  His hair was messy, his lips swollen and red, and his skin was flushed.  In the firelight, he looked golden, like a fallen angel, or a hero from myth.  When Phil finally met Clint’s eyes, Clint’s gaze was wary.  Phil’s stomach clenched, and not in a good way.  Helpless, Phil reached out to cup Clint’s cheek.  For a moment, Clint leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering closed.  Then he opened his eyes with a smirk.

Phil cut him off before he could voice whatever quip he had in mind.  “I mean it, okay?” he said softly.  “I’m in this for the long haul.  Nothing has to happen tonight.  Or for as long as you need it to… not happen.”  Inwardly, Phil winced.  Smooth he was not.

For a heartbeat, Clint looked lost.  He shuddered, leaning down to press his forehead against Phil’s.  “Okay, so the whole no-heat and musty-old-blankets things isn’t the most romantic ever…  But, Phil, I’m not sure I can spent the next three days snowed in with you, and _not_ want to jump your bones.”  He leaned back with a rueful smile and shrugged sheepishly.  “Plus, I kinda thought the firelight _was_ romantic?”

Phil ran a hand up Clint’s chest from waistband to Clint’s collarbone, marveling at the way Clint’s breath hitched.  “The firelight is very romantic,” he agreed.  “I just need you to be sure.”   _And not to regret it_.

Clint must have heard the unspoken words, because his eyes went wide.  “Shit, no, Phil,” he said.  “I’m sure.  I’m…  I love you.  So much.  No matter how long we get, I’d never regret you.  Could never regret you.”

Phil swallowed thickly.  As far as he was concerned, forever wouldn’t be long enough to spend with Clint, but he’d tell Clint that later, when Clint had a better chance of believing it.  “I could never regret you either,” he whispered.

~*~

Clint shivered slightly despite the fire.  He still couldn’t believe that Phil wanted him.  A tiny voice at the back of his mind reminded Clint that no one ever put up with him for long, and that Phil would eventually get tired of him and leave.  Clint squashed it down.  Phil loved him, which was a mind fuck on its own, but Clint trusted Phil.  He’d always trusted Phil.

Gazing down, Clint attempted to imprint this moment on his memory forever.  Phil was sprawled out on the blankets beneath him, a happy smile curving the corner of his mouth and his face relaxed.  As much as Clint’s dick would _really_ like to get Phil naked, Clint kind of also had the urge to just curl himself around Phil and sleep.  Phil looked soft and human in the light of the fire, his hair mussed and a bruise darkening his temple.  He was so unlike the agent in the suits that Clint had to swallow and just breathe for a moment.

“So,” Phil said, the corners of his eyes crinkling.  “I don’t suppose I can somehow convince you to share your spot in front of the fire tonight?”

Both of Clint’s eyebrows shot up, heat curling through him.  Phil flushed.  “I didn’t mean it like that,” Phil mumbled.

Clint swallowed his delighted smirk, but the amusement was probably showing all over his face.  “Pity,” he said.  “I’d definitely be willing to share space for a kiss.”  He wiggled his eyebrows, trying to pretend that his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest from a combination of nerves and the idea of making out with Phil for the next hour.  Or forever.  “Or two.  You think I can get away with charging three?”

“Well, that depends,” Phil replied.  “What are you offering in exchange for these kisses?”

Clint’s breath sort of froze in his lungs.  A mischievous teasing Phil was going to _kill_ him.  “I just want you to know that I’m biting back _so many_ puns right now,” he said when he could finally speak again.

“I appreciate the effort,” Phil said dryly.

Clint’s eyes dropped to Phil’s lips.  He had an urge to kiss that smile right off Phil’s face and drown in it.

“Clint,” Phil said when Clint didn’t move.  “Come here.”

Embarrassingly, Clint kind of melted when Phil reached out a hand, his smile soft and shy.  Clint tangled their fingers together and let Phil crowd him into their nest of pillows and blankets.  “Hi,” he said, mesmerized a little by Phil’s beautiful blue eyes.

“Hi,” Phil replied.  His smile was fondly amused.

Clint’s stomach swooped when Phil leaned in further.  “Are you going to kiss me then?” Phil asked.

“Yep,” Clint agreed a little breathlessly, distracted by the heat in Phil’s eyes and the way the firelight played over his face.

Phil’s breath brushed over Clint’s cheek as he closed the distance between them.  Clint sank into the kiss, because kissing Phil was one of the best things _in the world_ , right up there with shooting his bow, and Star Trek quote wars with Natasha.  Carefully, Clint slid his hands underneath the hem of Phil’s t-shirt and traced his palms over the planes of Phil’s back.  Phil followed the touch, and Clint chased after him, pushing Phil back down into the blankets.  Moaning happily into the kiss, Clint ground his hips down, shivering when he felt the answering bulge in Phil’s pants.

Clint seriously couldn’t believe he gotten this lucky.  He rarely even had _dreams_ this good.

Phil slid his hand to Clint’s ass, pulling him down firmly until Clint was sprawled out on top of Phil.  “Wait, wait,” Clint tried to say, his words muffled against Phil’s mouth.  Dragging his lips away, he looked down at Phil sprawled beneath him and tried to catch his breath.  “Your bruises…”

“Are fine,” Phil grumbled.

Clint swallowed heavily, the rest of his words evaporating as he looked at Phil.  Suddenly, the reality of the moment hit Clint, because that was Phil’s hand on his jaw, and Phil’s eyes were wide and dark as Phil stared up at him.  Clint’s heart skipped a beat.  “Come on,” he said, trying to cover up how overwhelmed he felt.  “Shirt off.”

Phil sat up, and helped Clint strip him of his t-shirt.  Tossing it away, Clint ran a hand over Phil’s shoulder and collarbone, scratching his fingers gently through Phil’s chest hair.  “I’ve always wanted to do that,” he admitted.  “It’s like your forearms, when you roll up the sleeves of your shirt in your office.  My hands itch to touch.”

Clint ghosted a hand over the worst bruise on Phil’s side, the dark colour not quite purple, but stretching over the left side of his ribs.  Clint risked a glance up, but Phil was watching him with a trace of awe.  In the firelight, his skin glistened faintly with sweat, and even with the bruises, he was the hottest thing Clint had ever seen.  “Jesus,” he cursed, his mouth dry.

Phil flushed, but he still crowded closer, a calloused palm coming up to rest over Clint’s heart.  Clint wondered if Phil could feel how it was pounding.  Now it was Clint’s turn to be pushed down onto the blankets, which was just fine with him.  More than fine.  Phil’s hands went to the waist of Clint’s cargo pants, his fingers deftly undoing the button.  “Yes,” Clint hissed.  “Please.”

Phil’s smile curved up into a smirk.  “I’ve got you,” he said.

Then his hand slid down to cup Clint’s cock through his pants, making Clint buck and groan.  He needed to be naked _now_ , his sense of urgency building, coiling tight in his stomach.  Clint dragged Phil down for a kiss, raking his nails gently up Phil’s spine.  Phil shuddered, his fingers fumbling with his attempt to strip Clint of his pants.  A second later Phil urged Clint to lift his hips as Phil yanked his pants the rest of the way off.  Panting, Clint watched as Phil leaned back enough to efficient strip himself of his pants too, because _shit_.  Phil might not have been as built as some of the other field agents, but Clint would _never_ get tired of looking at him naked.  Or clothed.  He was so ridiculously gone on Phil.

Phil must have read some the feelings on Clint’s face, because he leaned down to kiss Clint again, deep and hungry.  At the skin-on-skin contact, Clint whined, low and needy, spreading his legs wider so Phil could settle between them.  Heat was coursing through Clint’s body, and crackled down his spine.  Clint stroked a hand up Phil’s thigh, urging him closer.  The blankets scratched roughly at Clint’s over-sensitized skin as Phil’s solid weight pressed him down.  Hooking a leg around the back of Phil’s thigh, Clint rocked his hips up, hands sliding up Phil’s arms to grab his biceps.  “Come on,” he muttered.  “Please.”

Phil nosed at Clint’s jaw, dipping his head to taste the skin at the base of Clint’s throat, but Clint wasn’t having any of it.  He’d quite happily let Phil do that as much as he liked later, but right now he wanted to come, and to watch Phil fall apart above him.  “Stop being a tease,” he growled, glaring when Phil raised his head enough to arch an eyebrow.

Wordlessly, Phil reached down to wrap his hand around Clint’s cock.  “Yes,” Clint hissed, Phil’s touch warm and perfect.  Clint pushed his hips up into Phil’s hands, grabbing at Phil’s shoulders at the same time, wanting to be surrounded by Phil.

He growled a little at Phil’s amused huff.  “Shut up,” he muttered, his words ending in a gasp as Phil rubbed his thumb over the sensitive head of his cock.

Fumbling, Clint reached for Phil’s hip, tugging until their cocks slid together, the friction enough to steal Clint’s breath.  His hands clutched at Phil’s back, feeling the muscles flex under his hands.  Phil dropped his head to Clint’s shoulder, his low groan vibrating against Clint’s skin.  Part of Clint wanted to see Phil’s face, to watch that iron control slip and fracture apart.  Mostly though, Clint was consumed by the white-hot pleasure sparking at the edges of his vision.  He dug his fingers into Phil’s back as Phil slipped a hand between them, wrapping his calloused palm around both their cocks.  “Fuck,” Clint growled, hips jerking.

“Look at you,” Phil whispered hoarsely, his eyes dark and intent as he watched Clint.  “Fuck… I never imagined…”

“You’ve got me now,” Clint told him, lightning crackling up his spine.

Thrusting upwards, Clint keened, nudging Phil’s head up so he could lick his way into Phil’s mouth.  The kiss turned sloppy as Clint’s hips stuttered, his rhythm lost to the building friction and heat.  Clint’s world narrowed, every slide of their cocks pulling raw noises from his throat.  “Phil,” he gasped, his voice nearly a sob.

Carefully, Phil reached out and laced their fingers together, his other hand braced beside Clint’s head.  Squeezing back, Clint hung on tight, his heart beating so hard in his chest it hurt.  “Love you,” Phil muttered, his muscles trembling with tension under Clint’s hands.

“Love you, too, Phil,” Clint ground out.

Phil made a desperate sound at the back of his throat, and surged forwards, grinding their cocks together.  Clint pushed his hips up to meet Phil’s thrusts, losing himself to the pleasure and the choked sounds Phil was making.  He wanted to make Phil come, wanted to stay on the edge forever, wanted everything.  Leaning down, Phil kissed him desperately, and Clint was close enough that he could almost _taste_ it.  Words beyond him, Clint tried to hang on, but everything felt too good.  Clint gasped into Phil’s mouth, his orgasm torn from him in an explosion of white.  Dimly, he was aware of Phil moaning his name, but it was lost in the electricity running up Clint’s spine, stars still sparking behind his eyelids.  Wetness splashed against Clint’s stomach as Phil shook in his arms, warmth breath huffing against Clint’s neck and sending shivers through him.

Slowly, Clint opened his eyes.  He felt like the wind had been knocked out of him, drained and euphoric and breathless.  Phil was slumped across his chest, and Clint couldn’t stop his arms coming up to hold him tightly, not wanting Phil to go anywhere as they caught their breath.  His skin was sweaty and smeared with come, but Clint didn’t care.  He was warm and content in a way he couldn’t remember being in so long.  He just wanted to stay in the moment a while longer.

After a while, Phil stirred, pressing a kiss to Clint’s collarbone before pushing himself up with a grimace.  Clint couldn’t help his chuckle at Phil’s expression.  “Ugh,” Phil muttered, looking around for something to clean them up with, finally settling on a corner of one of the blankets.  “You could help, you know.”

Clint hummed.  “I could,” he agreed, but he still didn’t move.  Yawning as his eyes drifting shut, Clint snuggled deeper into the blankets.  He could probably just fall asleep right there.

Phil snorted in amusement, and Clint found himself gathered into warm arms as Phil shifted onto his back.  Clint burrowed his face into Phil’s shoulder, breathing in the scent of sweat and sex, as Phil tucked the blankets around them.  Phil’s hand came up to card through Clint’s hair, and if Clint could have purred, he would have.  “Magic hands,” he muttered sleepily, making Phil laugh.

“I have a question,” Phil said softly a long moment later.  “Why didn’t we take advantage of the comfortable couch right over there?”

“Because firelight is romantic, Phil,” Clint replied, not even bothering to open his eyes.  “You agreed.”  Then Clint stirred when Phil shifted with a grunt, suddenly conscious of all Phil’s bruises.  “You okay?” he asked softly, raising his head to look down at Phil.

“I’m fine,” Phil said, the crinkles deepening around his eyes.  Happiness had softened his face, and he smiled as he reached out to run a finger along Clint’s jaw.  “Well, I might be getting too old to have sex on the floor, but I didn’t hurt myself, so you can stop worrying mother hen.”

“I can’t help it,” Clint muttered, slumping down again to rest his chin and his hands on Phil’s chest.  “I…”  The rest of his words were cut off by a large yawn.

“Sleep,” Phil told him, scratching his fingers through Clint’s hair again.  “You can worry about me more in the morning.”

“Okay,” Clint agreed, snuggling closer and letting sleep pull him down.

~*~

 


	4. Chapter 4

Phil woke slowly, warm and comfortable.  His brain felt fuzzy, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.  Mission.  Safe-house.   _Clint_.  Blinking, Phil rolled over, suddenly realizing the solid heat curled around him wasn’t just the blankets.  Sometime in his sleep Clint had cuddled even closer, tangling his legs with Phil’s and apparently sleeping half on top of him.  It was ridiculously endearing.  Relaxed in sleep, Clint looked a lot gentler than the fearsome archer most people saw, or even the pissed off kid Phil had first met.  Phil’s heart did a slow loop in his chest. Phil was still amazed that everything hadn’t blown up in his face when he’d confessed his feelings.  That Clint loved him back.

His shifting woke Clint, who grumbled something and buried his face further into Phil’s shoulder.  Chuckling softly, Phil reached up to scratch his fingers through Clint’s hair.  Like the night before, Clint went boneless at the touch, groaning quietly.  “Morning,” Phil greeted.

Begrudgingly, Clint raised his head a moment later, looking adorably sleepy and rumbled.  “Hi,” Clint replied.  He blinked a few times, before wiping his chin with the back of his hand, seemingly checking for drool.  “What time is it?”

“I’m not sure,” Phil said, his hand drifting down to rest on Clint’s neck, his thumb gently tracing along Clint’s cheekbone.  He couldn’t stop touching Clint, but from the way Clint kept leaning into his touches, he didn’t mind so much.  “The storm is still going strong.”

“Mmm, good,” Clint replied.  “I don’t want to go back yet.”

Phil had to agree.  Going back to SHIELD would mean having a million different tasks vying for his attention.  Even with Clint sprawled out on the couch along the back wall, they wouldn’t get much time together.  An actual vacation would be even rarer, so Phil figured this might be as close as he and Clint got for a long time.  “Me either,” he agreed softly.

Clint smiled.  “It’s pretty comfortable right here, isn’t it?” he said.

“Yes,” Phil said with his own smile.  “It is.”

With another yawn, Clint snuggled back down.  “Okay,” he said.  “More sleep now.”

Phil shifted, because the fire was dying and needed more wood, and he should probably get up and check if there was anything caffeinated in the kitchen.  Clint’s arms tightened around his waist to stop him, Clint lifting his head again with another sleepy glare.  “And where do you think you’re going?” he grumbled.

Phil raised both his eyebrows.  “We can’t just lie around all day, Clint,” he said.

“And why not?” Clint asked pointedly.

“Huh.”  Phil didn’t have an answer for that.  “Well, at the very least, we need to put more wood on the fire.”

“I can tell you what else needs more wood,” Clint quipped.

Huffing, Phil rolled his eyes.  “I can also tell you what won’t be getting it,” he replied dryly.

“Fine,” Clint grumbled, getting up just enough to stoke the fire.  Phil unabashedly watched the flex of Clint’s ass the whole time, managing an exaggerated leer when Clint turned around again.

Clint snorted, his eyes dancing.  “Oh, I see how it is,” he said.

“Do you now?” Phil replied, tugging Clint back down to the blankets.  Clint really had the right idea with the whole not-moving plan.  Phil would have to compliment his brilliance, but later.  Much later.

“Yep,” Clint said.  He leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of Phil’s mouth, grinning when Phil rolled them over so Clint was sprawled out beneath him.

“Clint, stop talking,” Phil said, leaning in.

“Make me,” Clint mumbled against Phil’s lips, and Phil smiled, because that he could do.

~*~

The storm blew itself out in two days, which was just their luck now that Clint wanted to hide from the world for a little while.  If Clint had been with someone he _didn’t_ like, he could guarantee he’d have been snowed in for a week or longer.  Or someone he wasn’t having lots and lots of really excellent sex with, anyway.  Not that Clint and Phil had spent the last two days _just_ having sex.  They talked and cuddled and played more chess, because Phil insisted on refractory periods and conversation.  It had been really nice to have someone as interested in his brain as they were in his body, and the fact that it was Phil just made everything sweeter.

Naturally, that meant that as soon as the sky cleared, their emergency radio had crackled into life for the first time since the storm with instructions for extraction.

“You can’t glare at the sky all afternoon, you know,” Phil said behind Clint, his voice full of fond amusement.

“I can,” Clint insisted stubbornly.

Phil chuckled softly, before his arms slid around Clint’s waist.  With a sigh, Clint leaned back against Phil’s strong chest, letting Phil take his weight for a little while.  “I’ve been thinking…” Phil began, and Clint couldn’t stop the way he automatically tensed at the words.

“No, hey,” Phil said, nudging Clint to turn around enough that Clint could see his face.  Phil’s eyes were wide and blue and so very warm.  “About good things, I promise.  It’s just that this has been as close to a vacation as I’m probably going to get for a while, and spending time together might be difficult with our schedules.  So I was thinking I could just give you a key to my apartment?”

Clint’s stomach clenched.  “You’d do that?” he asked, warm joy starting to bubble up in his chest.

“Clint, nothing would make me happier than to come home and know that you’d be there,” Phil said softly.

“Shit, Phil,” Clint said, and pulled him in for a long, dirty kiss that probably would have started something if not for the extraction that was due soon.

Outside, Clint picked up the sound of a ‘jet landing, but Phil’s tongue was distracting.  Phil didn’t seem to want to stop kissing either, so Clint stayed where he was.  They reluctantly pulled apart when the front door opened, and Clint registered the sound of someone tapping snow off their boots.

“Well, I’d say that was unexpected,” Nick Fury drawled, “but I’ve actually been waiting for you both to get your heads out of your asses for years.  ‘Bout damn time.”

Startled, Clint turned wide eyes to the door.  Fury was now leaning against the frame, a thick sweater underneath his characteristic leather duster and a knit hat on his head.  There weren’t any other SHIELD agents with him, and Clint frowned, because the Director of SHIELD didn’t do pick-ups.

“Come on.  Get your asses in the ‘jet.  I’m cold,” Fury grumbled.

Okay, so maybe the Director _did_ do pick-ups?

“Did we get sucked into an alternate dimension by the storm, like in the Wizard of Oz?” Clint murmured to Phil.  “Should we be checking for clones?”

“No,” Phil said with a glare in Fury’s direction.  “This is just Nick’s way of being funny.”

Fury raised his eyebrows.  “Did you _want_ an impressionable young junior agent to see you in a potentially pantless situation?” he asked.  “Or holding hands with Hawkeye?  Which is cute, by the way.”

Clint willed himself not to blush, but Phil’s hand tightened on his when he tried to slip it free.

“I’m touched we warranted that much concern,” Phil said dryly.

Fury shot him a pointed look.  “Shut up, asshole,” he said.  “I didn’t have to swing by on my way home from meeting with the WSC.  Now go get your gear.”

“Sir, yes sir,” Phil replied sardonically.

Phil and Fury had been friends a long time, but Clint didn’t usually get to see them sassing each other like that.  Clint took a deep breath, because he suddenly found himself in an elite group, and didn’t want to fuck it up.

“Barton, a word?” Fury said when Clint moved to follow Phil.  Phil flashed him a reassuring smile as he disappeared into the bedroom.

“Sir?” he replied.

“Relax, Barton, I’m not going to give you the shovel talk,” Fury said.

Oh, good.  That sounded _utterly terrifying_.  “You’re not, sir?”

“No.” Fury smiled, his expression softening.  “I learned a long time ago to trust Phil’s judgement.  Besides, I’ve watched you two dance around each other for too long to ruin it now.  You both deserve a chance at happiness.”

Clint swallowed heavily.  “Thank you, sir,” he said, his voice suddenly thick.

Fury’s smile grew, before it faded into something far more calculating.  “Good.  Now, how likely do you think you’ll be in getting that asshole to take a vacation?” he asked, nodding his head to where Phil was doing a final check around the bedroom.

“Um.”  Clint blinked.

Fury sighed.  “He’s got so many vacation days saved up, HR is panicking.  Even I take more vacation days than him.”

Clint arched an eyebrow, because he didn’t believe that for a second.

Fury grinned, sharp and wolfish.  “HR and I have an agreement,” he said.  “And I happen to find political coups very relaxing.  Negotiating with guerrillas is far less stressful than what I usually deal with every day.”

Yeah, Clint wasn’t going to ask.  “If you say so, sir,” he said.  “And I think I can probably talk Phil onto a weekend away pretty soon.  If you want him to take a week, you’ll have to give me more time.”

“Barton, you get him to take a week, and you’ll be my new favourite person,” Fury said.

“Sir, yes sir,” Clint couldn’t resist quipping.

Phil walked back into the room just as Fury was leveling another glare at Clint.  “What’s wrong?” he asked immediately.

“Nothing,” Clint replied.

“Not a thing, Cheese,” Nick agreed.  “We good to go?”

At Phil’s nod, they locked up and headed for the ‘jet.  Phil was still watching both Clint and Fury warily, and Clint had to bite back a laugh when Fury sent him an exaggerated wink.  “So, Phil,” he said as Fury fired up the ‘jet engines.  “How do you feel about Bermuda?”

  
End


End file.
